When Wilson's Heart killed House's Head
by HilsonFTW
Summary: What if House hadn't survived the memory stimulation experiment at the end of Season 4 unscathed? This story explores that possibility, leaving a guilt-ridden Wilson as House's carer.
1. House has a strange Dream

In a way, life had got easier since the accident, as in House was now a lot easier to live with as a person. He had regained some of his abilities like dressing himself – with gentle encouragement; he was able to hold simple conversations and eat mannerly, and he helped with household chores, too. On the whole, he was now on the intellectual level of a five-year-old and, according to Foreman, likely to remain there – a 6'3" gentle little boy with a cane and a strong tendency for five o'clock shadow. Wilson didn't like to think about it, but in his heart of hearts he knew Foreman was right, he had seen similar symptoms in his brain tumour patients. Anyway, as long as House was happy... He was entirely living in the presence now, he didn't seem to remember ever being different - which was probably a blessing - and he didn't worry about the future. He was happy when he managed to get a nice tune out of the piano, sad when all the pancakes were gone, angry when he was in pain and regretful when told he had hurt someone. His gaze had lost its sharpness and was now filled with childlike curiosity, and often there was a gentle smile on his face. Yes, he was happy, happier than he had ever been it seemed. Shame it had cost him his mind.

Wilson tried to distract himself from that thought, he still felt co-responsible for what had happened, having talked House into the memory stimulation experiment when he had been so desperate to save Amber. He sighed and went to get House up: "Rise and shine, House, I gotta get to work and you gotta get to the day centre!" "I'm tired..." "I know you are, but I'll make you a nice cup of coffee and a peanut butter sandwich, and you'll be all better, ok?" House's voice was now becoming more enthusiastic: "With banana?" He nodded and smiled at House: "With banana! And I'll put on a sprinkle of cinnamon, too. And now go and get dressed, we'll have to go in half an hour." With that he put some clothes on the bed for him, a T-shirt, jeans and sneakers, and a shirt because it seemed like a breezy day outside. "I want an ironed shirt, like you have!" Wilson stopped in his tracks and turned back. "But you never want it ironed." "But it's NICER ironed, you always look nice and I always look creased..." He could see the beginning of tears in his eyes. "It's ok House, I'll iron it. All you need to do is tell me, ok?" He gave him a one-armed hug while picking up the shirt. "Ready in ten minutes?" House looked happy again now. "Ready in ten minutes!"

Only when he came in again ten minutes later, holding the now pristine shirt, House was still sitting on the side of the bed, looking at his sneakers in a puzzled way. "What about your shoes, House?" "I can't get them on, they're hurting me!" Wilson had a closer look: he had tried to put them on the wrong way round. Wilson took a deep breath and reminded himself that whatever he knew House had lost, he didn't know it himself; he was ok. "No, look, the other way!" House looked at the shoes, then his feet, then the shoes again. "The other way... Ok, now I know, the other way!" And full of enthusiasm he stepped into his sneakers and let Wilson help him tie the laces. "Do you want the cane or the wheelchair?" "Cane, I can walk today." He looked like the pain was manageable today alright, Wilson knew the expression on his face when it was bad, the way the gentle light left his eyes, replaced by anger and tears. Over breakfast, House gigglingly told Wilson about the dream he'd had, about being a doctor like he was, and how silly it had been, and unknowingly broke his heart.

They left and Wilson dropped House off at the day centre on the way to work. An idea occurred to him, he'd have to tell Foreman about that dream.


	2. What did the Dream mean?

For the first time in a while, Wilson actually felt excited when he entered the hospital that morning. Was House accessing memories in his dreams? Was there anyway they could help him access them consciously? He nearly ran into Cuddy, he was so deep in thought. "Everything ok? It's not like you to be late. Or distracted like that." "It's fine, House wanted his shirt ironed this morning, so I took longer." "He what? Well, there went the last hope we still had of ever getting him back..." She gave him a wry smile. "And that's why you nearly ran me over?" "No, I think... Well, House told me about his dream last night, and it was about being a doctor. I think he might be accessing memories in his sleep, and..." Cuddy shook her head: "He may well be, but I don't think that means much for his conscious mind." He tried to look impassive but obviously hadn't succeeded. "Look, you tell Foreman about it, he's the expert." She gently brushed his arm. "Wilson, I know how you're feeling. Just remind yourself he's happy now, ok?" "How do you think I make it through the day at all?" He went off towards his office, he had a bunch of people to see who still had some hope of recovery.

Wilson calmed himself down, he wasn't going to talk to Foreman just yet, he needed more evidence. He'd quiz House intensely about the dream over dinner; thank goodness his short-term memory had been left unaffected.

"Did you have a good day?" He asked House when he was picking him up from the day centre. "Great day! Everyone said how handsome I looked with the nice shirt on! And there's a new girl in my group, she's hot!" "Is she? What's she look like?" "C-cups!" Wilson couldn't help but laugh; House's taste in girls hadn't changed at any rate. "Do you think she'd like to come over?" House looked at him enquiringly: "She's mine, right?" "Course she is, I'll make the pizza, you do the rest!" Well, this was ok, wasn't it? Wilson was beginning to relax, the first time all day. Living this nightmare wasn't half as bad as it probably seemed from the outside. They were still talking girls and making each other laugh, and they still enjoyed hanging out together, pizza, beer and the remote close-by. Who cared if House could still follow the satire on Blackadder as long as it made him laugh? House's thoughts had wandered on in the mean time: "We read today, I got through a whole paragraph without stumbling!" Wilson felt a momentary surge of pride, their nightly training sessions were obviously paying off. He might never be able to grasp the New England Medical Journal again, but at least he'd be able to make sense of road signs and food labels.

He couldn't hold on to himself any longer: "House, tell me about that dream you had! The one with you being a doctor!" "Ummmm..." "You thought it was funny this morning, remember?" "Oh, that dream! I had a really cool office. And I was mean to everybody, like that guy from Scrubs..." "Dr Cox?" Wilson was really getting excited now; surely this had to mean something? Was he really seeing his old self?


	3. Never forget the Vicodin!

They were in the middle of their reading exercise when it happened, everything had been calm before and House had been making good progress on the page: "Percy wouldn't recognize a joke if it danced naked in front of him wearing Dobby's tea cosy..." He had been reading with great deliberation, and then had started giggling. "Ron is funny... OW!" Wilson looked up: "You ok?" "I... My leg..." There was pain and confusion on his face. Oh God... "House, tell me! Did you take your lunch time tablets? Tell me!" Wilson had to restrain himself from shaking his friend. House looked scared now: "Don't be mad! Are you mad at me?" "No, I'm not, I just need to know! Please, House, try to remember!"

He sneaked a look at the T.E.N.S. device on House's belt; it seemed to be working fine. "Did you take them?" The words were now coming out between gasps of pain. "I... No... There weren't any..." He curled up, groaning and with animal fear in his eyes. Not again... This was the third time it had happened. Chronic pain seemed to be a concept entirely alien to the social workers at the day centre. "I'll be right back to make you better, promise. Just stay there." He wasn't quite sure why he said that, House wouldn't have been able to go anywhere even if he had wanted to. He was cradling his leg in a vain hope of relief and utterly absorbed in his own suffering. Wilson felt calm now, he had switched into crisis mode and pain management was, after all, part and parcel of his job. It would be fine. He could hear his friend screaming when he fished out the Demerol from the medicine cupboard. Calm... Demerol... Syringe... Pull it in... It'll be fine.

It wasn't fine. He came back into the living room to find House with bruises all over his face. "What..." "It hurts!" He punched himself again in a desperate bid for distraction, his T-shirt soaked with tears. His methods had become less sophisticated since he had cut himself to stimulate endorphin release; hard to believe that had been barely three years ago. "House, I know it hurts to move, but just expose your hip, that's all. Then I can make you better." "No, it hurts!" Before he quite knew what was happening he felt a punch in his face. "OW!" Wilson just couldn't help himself; these fists were as strong as they'd ever been. "House, what the..." "I'm sorry, I... It hurts so bad! Wilson, help me!" "Just let me near your hip, it'll be over soon then, honestly." Willingly, though in obvious torment, House resettled himself so Wilson could pull down his waistband and inject him. "I'll tell these people at the centre where to go tomorrow, leaving you without your meds!" But for now he just took House into his arms and gently rocked him back and forth until he could feel his body relax. "Better?" House nodded, exhausted. "Ok, House, I want you to promise me one thing. If they don't bring you your Vicodin with lunch, please remind them! Tell them you need it, or this'll happen again. You don't want this to happen again, do you?" House shook his head. "No!" Then he started crying: "I'm so sorry I hurt you!" "It's ok; you didn't know what you were doing." He found himself chuckling. "People will think we've been in a bar fight the way we're looking right now..." House giggled and Wilson felt relief wash over him. He wasn't quite sure if his best buddy still knew what a bar fight was, but at least he had managed to make him laugh.


	4. House and Wilson are into something good

The next morning House asked for the wheelchair, his pain levels still weren't quite back to normal after the night's crisis. The social worker in charge of his group reacted shocked when she saw his battered face: "What on earth happened?" "PAIN happened!" Wilson snapped at her but then got a hold on himself. "I need to talk to you for a moment. Who distributed the lunch time tablets yesterday?" "Erm... Colette I think. Why?" "Get her! Now! The reason why House is in that state is because he didn't get his Vicodin with lunch yesterday. He needs that! I've told you before!" The social worker pulled a concerned face: "Oh God, I'm sorry. I guess she is kinda forgetful with those things. It never seems so serious with painkillers, does it? It's not like they're life and death medication." "WHAT?" He turned her towards House almost violently. "Look at his face! He punched himself; he was in such desperate pain! Why do you think he's wearing that T.E.N.S. device? This man has serious nerve damage in his leg! He has been in constant, excruciating pain for almost ten years! I had to give him Demerol last night just to take the edge off it! He needs those tablets to survive, you idiot!" "Mr..." "DR Wilson!" "Dr Wilson, I do appreciate your concern, but I'm sure you'll agree that 'idiot' is not a term the use of which we can accept at a centre for the cognitively..." "Sorry, missy, I think you're getting me wrong here! I'm not trying to insult your clients. THEY are cognitively impaired. YOU are an idiot!" Wilson had almost managed to terrify himself with that outbreak. "And now I need your name and your supervisor." "Ashley Cairnduff", she informed him icily and took House in with her as she went to get her boss: "Do you want to come in, Greg?" Her smile looked fake.

Wilson took a couple of deep breaths as we waited for the supervisor and flashed a reassuring grin into the middle distance, just to let any casual passers-by know that really everything was perfectly fine, just a personal matter he had to sort out. It was two or three minutes before she came, a good-looking woman in her early thirties, dressed for getting down and dirty with her clients if necessary, and with the kind of face that had taken at least three different ethnicities to assemble. She looked less than delighted, so Wilson had to assume that Ms Cairnduff had already told her side of the story. "Are you Greg's carer?" He hesitated for a moment, it still sounded strange to him to be addressed as anyone's carer, let alone House's. "Well, are you?" "Yeah, sorry, I guess I am. It just sounds strange. See, he's my best friend. All that's changed since his accident is that I moved in with him so he won't play with the scissors and the matches." Her gaze softened, she seemed to believe him. "What's that bruise on your face at all?" "Oh, that's where he punched me last night when I asked him to move so I could inject him with Demerol." "Ok, so he obviously WAS in pain. I'm sorry about that, I'll make sure it won't happen again." She was smiling at him now, in an apologetic kind of way. "I hope so. Seriously, Ms..." "Garvey, Natasha Garvey." "Jimmy Wilson." He offered his hand and she shook it. "Natasha, I need you to take this seriously. House has chronic nerve pain, quite unconnected with what's bringing him here, and..." "You're on second name terms with your best friend?" She looked at him with one raised eyebrow, very sexy. Wilson shrugged. "We met in work, and I guess among doctors that's the normal form of address. We just never changed it." Natasha was obviously trying to disguise shock. "Greg was... a doctor?" He nodded. "A medical genius, world famous. There are hundreds of people alive now who wouldn't be if it hadn't been for him." The only thing about her that didn't say 'oh my God' was her voice. "What happened?" Wilson still found it hard to talk about this aspect of the story in a steady voice. "It's your fault", his conscience told him all the time. "He carried out an experimental procedure on himself trying to save a patient and ended up in cardiac arrest. After they had resuscitated him..." He couldn't go on. She put her arm around him, in a sisterly way, comforting. "Listen, why don't you come in for a cup of coffee and calm down a bit? I think I'll need to hear more about Greg so we can work out a suitable program for him here." Wilson smiled. "I'd love to, but I'm late for work as it is. Could I come in for ten minutes when I'm picking him up tonight?" "Of course you can, I'm looking forward to it." Wilson got back into the car feeling a whole lot better. She did seem to want to help, and it had been a long time since he'd felt so attracted to anyone.

As soon as he arrived at the hospital, he swooped down on Foreman like a hawk on a chicken. "Foreman, I'll bring House in, I need you to do a functional MRI of his brain while he's asleep, a memory test, a..." Foreman looked bemused. "Easy, easy! Are you channelling his spirit now or something?" Foreman was right, he was sounding like the old House. He laughed. "Well, maybe that would help us make use of it. But I think I've found a way to get it back, to get him back! Listen, I think his intellect is still in there somewhere, he's accessing all sorts of memories in his sleep!" He told Foreman about House's dream, how amazingly it had reflected his old life, his old personality, everything. Foreman nodded thoughtfully: "I hear you, Wilson. But I think you're being over-optimistic. His memory has never been the problem, all the medical knowledge in the world is still in there. What he's lost is the ability to make sense of all that knowledge. And we won't bring that back even if we did find a way of giving him conscious access." "Foreman, it's a hope! I'm not asking you to poke around in his brain, he's suffered enough damage doing that himself. I'm just asking you to have a look at it." Foreman shrugged. "Ok, bring him in, I guess it can't do any harm. But don't get your hopes up!"

Despite Foreman's gloomy predictions, Wilson realised something good was happening to him when he found a big, happy grin had crept across his face while examining a patient's test results. Ok, so she was clearly in remission, but that didn't usually make him that happy, did it? He called her in: "Good news, Mrs Di Marco, you're in remission!" She looked at him as if she didn't dare believe his words. "Totally cancer free, not a single clonal cell in your body!" "Oh my God, Dr Wilson, thank you!" She got up and hugged him. "Hey, it's ok! I'm only doing my job..." "Y'know, I could tell it was gonna be good news when I saw you there behind your desk. You were looking happier than I'd ever seen you." He couldn't really tell her that that had very little to do with her current state of health, could he? "Well, it's being able to tell people these things that keeps you going in oncology", he smiled, even as his gaze reached her chemo-ravaged scalp. "And now buy yourself a funky hat and go dancing, I hope not to see you here again till your check-up in six months!" She hugged him again before she went out, already texting the news to all her loved ones. Wilson went back to work - concentrate, his next patient was a pretty nasty case of non-Hodgkin's lymphoma and he'd have to find a new treatment protocol for him.

After work he put on Beethoven's Sixth in the car, he was feeling that good about the world. He'd ask Natasha out he had just decided, she was just too good to be true. He was still smiling as he walked into her office, small and shabby as it was, telling of great enthusiasm and chronic underfunding. "Careful, don't take that one, I don't think it'll hold anyone over 100 pounds", she winked as he was trying to pick out a chair from a pretty rackety collection. "That one over there should do you." He sat down and made himself as comfortable as he could in a stackable conference chair from about 1976. She shoved a cup of strong, fresh coffee across the desk for him and looked at him with an expression of genuine interest. "So, tell me about Greg. What do you think we can do for him here?" "Well, first and foremost I really need you to take his pain management regimen seriously, as I said this morning. House has..." He didn't realise how time was passing as he was talking to Natasha, telling her about House, what had happened to him, their friendship... It felt good to let it all pour out for once. Only when Ms Cairnduff stuck in her head he realised he had been in there for nearly half an hour already. "Is Dr Wilson going to be ready soon? Greg is getting quite upset waiting for him out here." He turned around and could see House sitting there with an anxious expression on his face. A pretty young woman was holding his hand, with long blonde hair and, yes, pretty amazing baps. "I'll be right out, House!" He shouted. "Just making sure they'll never forget about your Vicodin again!" House seemed to see the point there, his features relaxed. "Ok!" He smiled back. "Well, I guess we better finish up, hm? Unless you want to come along", Wilson suddenly found himself saying. "Where there's enough dinner for two, there's enough dinner for three." Natasha smiled. "Sorry, not tonight, I've an early start tomorrow. But how about Saturday?" Wow, that was encouraging. "Yeah, Saturday sounds great." She nodded towards the two turtledoves outside who were now whispering to each other and winked. "Y'know, I think it might turn out to be a doubledate."

With House firmly installed on the passenger seat, Wilson knew he had to breach the only subject to him that had been on his mind all day when he hadn't been thinking about Natasha. "House, y'know the way something in your head went wrong when you had that accident?" They always talked freely about the subject. House had been told he'd had an accident, and that there was something wrong with his head now, but that knowledge was of no concern to him; he couldn't put it into context. "Yeeeessssss... Why?" "Maybe we can put it right after all. But you'd have to go into hospital for a couple of days, Foreman would have to run a bunch of tests on you." "Why?" "Cos he won't be able to put things right if he doesn't know exactly what's wrong with them, ok?" House looked slightly scared. "Will it hurt?" "No, nobody will be allowed to do anything that might cause you pain. You're in enough of that as it is." House nodded, thinking. "Ok, but you'll bring me lunch everyday, right?" "Of course I will." They changed subjects and talked about the days they'd both had, and about the amazing women they'd met. "I'm going out with Natasha on Saturday, do you want to invite Elaine and you both come along?" That would throw the idea of sophisticated entertainment right out of the window, but then who needed sophistication all the time? "If you don't want to I can ask Cuddy to come over, you can have a chat and a bottle of wine, and a giggle with Rachel." He didn't like House to think he needed a baby sitter. In the old days he had known he needed one, but that had been a different kind of baby sitting, too. House shook his head. "I'll ask Elaine out. She's gorgeous, isn't she?" He seemed very proud to have caught such a beautiful lady's attention. "She is. And you're right, her boobs are amazing." They both laughed.


	5. Moonlight and Music and Love and Romanc

Thank goodness by Saturday their bruises had healed well enough for them to be seen in civilised society again and House was back in good walking shape - and very excited to take his girl around the carnival for the first time. By mid-afternoon he had decided that not a single one of his shirts was worthy of her attention and so they went shopping, eventually settling for a pin-striped Versace and classic black chucks. Wilson ended up investing in a light grey cashmere v-neck and a snazzy pair of navy deck-shoes because looking at House in his new designer splendour he had suddenly found his own wardrobe depressingly nerdy. He wanted to look classy for Natasha, who he was sure would ditch the hoodies and sneakers she seemed to favour from Monday to Friday for something much more impressive.

He was right. They had agreed to meet up at House's apartment, and when the women arrived he didn't know where to start taking her in, with the long black curls tumbling down the back of her leather jacket, the way her Levi's were accentuating her hips, the perfect toes peeping from her sandals - it was just all too much for one guy. "Wow…", he finally blurted out. "You look incredible!" "Thank you!" There was nothing coquettish about her smile, she knew about her beauty the same way a bird knows about its wings. "So what do you think about your lady, Greg?" He had just been standing there gawking at Elaine, transfixed by that beautiful apparition in a mille fleur cotton dress. "Gorgeous!" And he went over to kiss her. Natasha winked at her own date. "I was most of the afternoon helping her get ready." "We actually ended up going shopping." Wilson gestured at his friend's new shirt. "That sweater looks pretty new, too..." "Yeah, I thought you might find my stuff a bit too nerdy." "I like nerdy guys, actually." "Damn, that's 200 bucks down the drain then." He felt comfortable bantering with Natasha like that, there was no first date awkwardness. "House, why don't you get the flowers?" They had actually bought corsages for the girls, why not go all out while you're at it anyway? Elaine giggled happily when House fixed the flowers to her denim Jacket. "No one's ever given me flowers before…" "Well, it's about time somebody did then, isn't it?" He could still do suavity, interesting... Wilson filed that one away in the things to tell Foreman part of his mind. Things were getting intriguing there. Last night he had given House some of his own old research to read, far beyond his current reading age, and he had sailed through it as if he remembered writing it. He focussed his thoughts on more immediate matters again, Natasha had clasped her hair behind one ear and asked him to fix the corsage to the clasp, making her look like some silent movie Hawaiian princess.

The carnival was as romantic as they had all hoped, with the night warm and moonlit, and the fireflies doing their business as if they were being paid for it. House had been a bit disappointed when Elaine declined his invitation to come on the rollercoaster with him, citing fear, but became fully reconciled with the world when she let him buy her a stick of cotton candy. The couples were walking behind each other, both arm in arm, when they came to the dance tent. Its sides were open and a decent enough cover band had just started on Proud Mary. "Come on, let's dance!" And before Wilson quite knew what was happening to him, he was twirling Natasha around. "Big wheel keep on turning, proud Mary keep on burning..." She was singing along in a husky alto voice, then suddenly interrupted herself. "Shame Greg can't dance". He and Elaine were standing on the sidelines, looking sad and disappointed. "You're a bad friend, Wilson", his eyes were saying. "You know I can't join you in this." "Hm... Maybe if we asked the band to play something slow..." The musicians, when presented with the situation, were only too happy to oblige. "The next song is a slow one, by the late, great Otis Redding, and we're playing it just for Greg and Elaine, two very special people who are here on their first date together." OUCH! The realisation of what House would have had to say about the words "Very special" Even just a few months ago went through Wilson like a knife. "You ok?" Natasha looked concerned. "Yeah, something just struck me." Anyway, what did it matter? House Version 2.0 was beaming as he lead his Belle onto the dancefloor, and when he was gently swaying her to the music he looked like those arms of his weren't yearning for anything. And with Natasha cradled in them and leaning against his chest Wilson had to admit that his own arms weren't feeling too bad either.


	6. More troublesome Memories

They had agreed on Tuesday for House to go to hospital, Monday was swimming day at the centre and that was sacrosanct. Wilson had got up especially early to make his extra special macadamia nut pancakes for breakfast, and they took the Honda in as a treat. House was riding pillion on his own battle steed now, but seemed to enjoy it just as much as he had in the driver's seat. He was whooping with delight at the sensation of speed, wind and freedom as they accelerated down the main road.

Still, once arrived at the hospital, he calmed down much faster than Wilson would have liked. "Are you sure it's not gonna hurt?" He really seemed worried, troubled my ancient memories he wasn't even aware of. "Positive!" "Really?" Wilson gave him the n-th hug of the morning as they were unpacking his stuff in a cosy private room. "It'll be fine. Foreman will be in charge of all the tests, there's not gonna be anyone there who doesn't know you, don't worry! You like Foreman, don't you?" "Mmmmmmmmm..." Ok, no, he didn't really, that hadn't changed, but on a fundamental level he still seemed to trust him. "And Elaine can come and see you every night, how does that sound?" His eyes lit up. "Much better..." "I'll see you for lunch, ok?" "Ok!" Leaving his best friend in the company of two hand-picked nurses, Wilson went to see Foreman.

"Right, so you think something's gonna come out of this..." Foreman didn't seem too optimistic about House's prognosis. "Yes, listen Foreman! I gave him some of his own research to read, and he sailed through it, as if he knew it all!" "Could be he just made good progress with his reading..." "Come on, he's reading at a first grade level right now, if that. No one can make that amount of progress overnight!" "Right, ok, what else?" "We went on a date on Saturday, and..." "Oh, date? Tell me more!" "Later... He didn't handle that like a five-year-old, he handled it like a competent adult!" Foreman chuckled. "Competent adult? Now that would be something new..." "Ok, like someone who's been on a date before, who knows his way around with a woman." "Wilson, none of that has to mean anything..." "But what if it did? What if the old House is still there under the surface and there was a way of bringing him back? If you don't believe in it yourself, try it for your old boss!" "My boss. I'm still acting department head. And I doubt Cuddy's gonna promote me till he reaches retirement age." "Fine, whatever, do it for your boss!" "Are you sure I'd be doing it for him?" Foreman pointed through the glass partition of the room. "He's happier than I've ever seen him..." Wilson was getting frustrated. "God damn it, Foreman, just do it! I don't care who you do it for, as long as you do it at all!" He stomped off towards his own department, leaving Foreman shaking his head.

Over lunch - salmon bagels with a spicy mustard dressing - House seemed less than cheery. "This morning was boring", he declared. "Why?" "Foreman made me do all sorts of memory puzzles, like at the day centre when someone's off sick." To Wilson that sounded far from boring. "What kind of memory puzzles?" "Dunno... There was a word one, that was pretty ok. But then there was one with numbers, and one with shapes..." He slammed a half eaten bagel against the wall in frustration. "I HATE the shapes one!" Wilson gave him a half smile and put his arm around him. "So bad?" "I hate it I hate it I hate it! And I hate Foreman, too! I wanna go home!" "But you can't go home right now, Foreman's got to do more tests!" House brushed him off. "I hate tests!" He was really starting to get upset. "I wanna go home! Please?" There were tears in his eyes now. "Please, House. There are two more things Foreman's got to do, maybe three. You'll be home by tomorrow night if you want to." "No!" He grabbed his cane and made off as fast as he could. Oh God! Wilson went off in hot pursuit, but slowed down when he noticed where House was going. Down the aisle... Around the corner... He was following him at a distance. Finally... His old office! It was locked of course, kept waiting for him by Cuddy in a vain hope, and he rattled the door in frustration. "Let me in!" Wilson was sure that roar could be heard in Connecticut. He closed in on him and took him into a loose embrace. "Please, House, if there's any chance of you ever getting back into that office it's letting Foreman do those tests on you." "Office?" House suddenly seemed to be wondering what he'd been doing there. "Offices aren't for me, they're for you..." Wilson brought him back to bed.


	7. Darkness in the Frontal Lobe

Wilson was in a case conference after lunch when he got paged. "MRI suite" It said. He had told House he could call for him anytime, so, well, that's what he'd got. "Everything ok?" "Yeah", Foreman said. "I just wanted you to be here in case he gets scared. Kids usually do, and..." Wilson gave him a murderous glare: "House is NOT a kid..." "Well, technically he isn't but his test results from this morning still show exactly the same level of impairment as six months ago. Pretty good verbal skills, seriously impaired spatial and numeral abilities, practically no abstract thinking. Sorry Wilson, but intellectually he's still five years old." Wilson sighed and shook his head. "Look deeper, I want two functional MRI's, awake and asleep. There MUST be something in those dreams, in the way he went to his office... We have to explore that for his sake!" "For his sake? Anyway, that's why we're here."

They brought House in and he willingly lay down on the table, no fear, no resistance. "Ok, House", Foreman instructed him. "You have to lie totally still in there. Do you think you can do that?" "Ok..." "And while you're in there I'll ask you some questions that you'll have to answer, so we'll know how to get you better. "Fine..." He seemed utterly calm, like he'd seen the procedure a hundred times before - which of course he had, but how the hell did he know? "See?" Wilson nudged Foreman as they were watching House slide into the scanner. "He knows!" Foreman shrugged. "He IS remarkably calm. But the best memories are useless if he can't put them into context, that's the problem." The scan started. "House, what did you do last Saturday? What's two times two? Give me three words for someone you like! If you take three steps forward, then three to the left, and to the left again, and to the left again, where will you end up? How are you feeling right now? What do you really wish for in life? Hum your favourite piece of music!" And so on and so forth; House's time in the machine was crammed with thinking.

Sadly, his brain, it turned out, wasn't. Foreman guided Wilson through the images later in the afternoon, while House was busy having himself coo-ed over in his room by a very sympathetic Elaine. "Ok, we can see all his responses to the questions and tasks here, and how well his brain performed processing them. Here's the music." He pointed at an area of activity. "Here's the three words for someone you like, here's what he did last Saturday, God, he enjoyed that." Indeed his limbic system was as bright as a Christmas tree on that image. "And here", Foreman pointed to an area near the front of the brain. "Is the numerical and spatial reasoning, abstract thought, logic - all the stuff that makes us competent adults." That area of the brain was practically dark. There was some limited, localised activity, but the overall impression was that of a cloudy night sky, with the occasional star peeping through. "All this confirms this morning's results. Wilson, take him home, there's nothing anyone here can do for him. Things might improve over time, there might be some regeneration of nervous tissue, but don't hold your breath for it." "But what about this here?" Wilson pointed at a lit-up dot in the darkness that prevailed in House's frontal lobe. "There might be something in this, we might be able to help him with brain training, memory stimulants, whatever. Please, at least do the sleep MRI. If that turns out the same way I'll take him home, promise!" Foreman sighed. "Ok, but I'm really not sure who you're trying to help here, him or yourself." Wilson ignored that jab at his guilt issues and went back to join the party in House's room. Natasha had come in under the pretext that Elaine needed supervision, but the enthusiasm she greeted him with told of very different things.

Wilson still felt her touch as he was going to bed, and it still lingered on his body when he got up in the morning. He didn't make an effort with breakfast, being on his own, but he packed a bigger lunch box than usual, just in case she and Elaine might make it over. Cheese, crackers, some crusty bread, crispy fresh veg, some smoked fish, thinly sliced ham - sure she'd like some of that? He was so preoccupied with thinking of something nice for Natasha that he already had his hand in the pickle jar when he realised what he was doing and who he was really preparing lunch for. No pickles... He shook his head and went back to the matter at hand.

On the way to his office he took a detour through the neurology department, just for a chat with House and a couple of sentences with Foreman. "I need some more information for the sleep MRI, does he take naps during the day or anything like that?" "Not really, why?" "Cos putting him under would interfere with his R.E.M.-sleep, so I'd rather do it while he's sleeping anyway. It's the dreams you're interested in after all, isn't it?" "Right... I'll see what I can do."

He went into House's room and was received with a big, happy welcome hug. "I missed you!" "I missed you, too." It was true, too, it hadn't felt right to be on his own, not to share the amazing feeling of being in love over dinner and the New Yankee Workshop. "House, you know that test Foreman wants to run on you today?" "Which one?" "The one you've got to be asleep for." "Ah, right..." "Do you think you could just go to sleep at some point during the day so they can test you then?" "Why? Can't they give me something?" "Yeah, but then the test wouldn't yield meaningful results." "Huh?" Ok, that had been too high-brow for House's new five-year-old mind, Wilson was still getting used to it. "If Foreman put you to sleep for the test, all sorts of stuff would happen in your brain that usually wouldn't and he couldn't really see what's going on there." House considered that and then nodded. "Ok, I'll try. I want to get better." "Is there any way I can help you with that?" "Dunno... Ummmm... Yeah!" "Yeah?" "Yeah, Harry Potter on my iPod. That ALWAYS puts me to sleep." "And me..." There was something weirdly soothing about that voice. "Ok, I'll tell Foreman he can do it in the afternoon, ok? We'll put the book on straight after lunch and off to dreamland you go." "Ok..." "Anything they're doing with you in the morning?" "No idea, ask Foreman!" Foreman seemed happy enough to schedule the sleep-MRI for the afternoon and booked House in for an EEG in the morning. He gave Wilson an encouraging smile: "Tonight we'll know what we're at with him."

Only when the evening came Wilson found the encouraging smile hadn't been justified. "I'm just getting the same results over and over again, here!" And Foreman pointed to the images from the dream MRI. Again, the brain was lit up like the night sky on Independence Day, but one region remained resolutely dark, awake, asleep, dreaming, at rest, thinking - there was practically no activity at all. The EEG again confirmed this. "But..." Wilson was confused. "If he has all these memories and is using them subconsciously all the time, why can't he access them consciously?" "Because he has no processing power to put them into context. They're under the surface all the time, but they don't make sense to his conscious self." Foreman put his arm around Wilson: "His hard disk is perfectly fine, but his CPU is fried."


	8. Anger, Sadness and Acceptance

Wilson shook his head. "Ok, so it's fried. But it's not silicon, it's living tissue, so it's got to be possible to fix it. You're the neurologist, tell me what we can do to help him back to us!" Foreman sighed: "We've tried just about anything, long before you came back from your bereavement leave. What's left is experimental treatments, nerve growth factors, stem cells... And if you really want to put him through that..." "Anything, as long as it's not painful for him. For God's sake, Foreman, I just want to help him be himself again!" "You want to help him be miserable again?" Foreman pointed through the glass partition, at House who was having a ball playing a game he had just invented with the nurses. He'd poke one of them, then feign innocence when she turned around and giggle his pert little butt off. The nurses seemed to love him for it, everything was fun and merriment in there. "He's happy now, why take that away from him? Maybe that's God's way of finally giving him peace. I'll give you it's a pretty twisted way, but it's obviously working." "GOD'S WAY OF GIVNG HIM PEACE?" Wilson suddenly realised he was shouting. "DO YOU EVEN BELIEVE THAT YOURSELF? LETTING ME DEPRIVE HIM OF HIS MOST PRECIOUS ASSET AND CRIPPLING HIM FOR LIFE IS GOD'S WAY OF GIVING HIM PEACE?"

He took a couple of deep breaths, this shouting couldn't go on. House was giving him a worried look through the partition and he could hear the sound of Cuddy's stilettos coming down the aisle. "Wilson! My office! Now!" He followed her like a dog who'd been caught chewing shoes. "Here, have a coffee!" "Thanks!" He sat down on the naughty chair and tried to get a grip on himself while she made herself comfortable behind her desk again. She gave him a minute or two to calm down, then reached across the desk and took his hand. "Wilson, listen to me now. This. Is. Not. Your. Fault!" "Yes it is! And for what? Amber's gone, he's half gone, I crippled him for nothing!" Suddenly he felt tears well up in his eyes and found himself powerless to swallow them. The dam had broken; he sobbed and sobbed, not caring about anything in the world anymore except his own, infinite grief. Cuddy leant across the desk and pulled him into an awkward hug. "That's good, Wilson, just let it all go. You've been needing this so..." Then she couldn't hold back anymore either. They cried together for what seemed like hours. Finally he managed to catch his breath. "Sorry for the meltdown!" "That's ok, I meant it when I said you needed that. Let's just talk." And they did. He just kept rambling about what had happened to him, what had happened to House, his grief, the guilt that tightened his chest 24/7, the deep resentment he felt about nature not even doing House the favour of taking his pain away along with his intellect, the shock of ordering a meal in a restaurant with him and being asked "And what does HE want?" There was so much to tell, more than he had told Natasha so far or probably ever would, up to and including his hope that House's dissociative memories meant something, could be utilised, anything to help him back to the world where he belonged. Cuddy wasn't so sure. "Maybe he doesn't belong in this world. None of that God-stuff Foreman said, but he's happy now, he was miserable before. Maybe he needed his intellectual and emotional age to merge to finally find a resting place." Wilson nodded slowly, then swallowed hard. "I miss him so much. I miss his sarcasm, the way he could always explain my motivations to me, the pranks we used to play on each other... He's a nicer person now, and he's probably a better friend, but he's not House." Cuddy gave him a warm smile. "Isn't he? Maybe what we have now is House stripped down to the essentials, a kind, sensitive, funny guy without the protective padding." "Well, I liked the protective padding, ok? And I took that from him, I took that huge, amazing intellect." He bit his lips; he could feel the tears well up again. "No you didn't. It was his decision to undergo that procedure and he knew the risks. He could have told you to fuck off. He chose not to." "He was scared of losing me." "He also wanted to solve the puzzle. And he knew you'd come back to him eventually. It's what you both do." Wilson found himself stiff with tension again, his jaws clenched, his hands in tight fists. He shook his head. "I don't know. It's just so, so wrong..." Cuddy stroked him lightly across the head. "Look, you and House go home now, have a pizza, meet your girls, have a good time. It'll be ok." "But..." "Huh?" "He wants to get better, he told me! He knows he isn't ok!" "No he doesn't, he only knows what you told him. It's an abstract fact to him like two and two makes four. As far as he's concerned he's perfectly fine." Suddenly Wilson could feel a weight lifting off his shoulders, he could feel them drop. Maybe it WAS time to let go? His new life with House wasn't too bad, was it? Hell, he'd met the most amazing woman ever thanks to it! He smiled, slowly, as if not quite sure it was the right thing to do. "Ok..."

He went up and told House they were going home. "So am I better now?" "No, you're not, but I am, and one out of two ain't bad, is it?" In the car with him, blissing out in unison to Beggar's Banquet, he heaved a deep, contented sigh. He felt at peace.


End file.
